<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Putting the Dog to Sleep by Fuil_agus_deora</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26537602">Putting the Dog to Sleep</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuil_agus_deora/pseuds/Fuil_agus_deora'>Fuil_agus_deora</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, I’ll do tags for it if it happens, M/M, Maybe some smut later on we’ll see, Murder Husbands on the Run, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Post-Finale, Slow Burn, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:33:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,921</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26537602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuil_agus_deora/pseuds/Fuil_agus_deora</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I didn't enjoy taking her away from you, Will. I was just as fond for her."</i>
</p><p><i>"I can't trust you to tell the whole truth."</i><br/>-------</p><p>After surviving the Great Red Dragon, Will and Hannibal, both injured, are now on the run. As mutual as this decision was, there’s still an air of slight resentment between them. </p><p>Regret doesn't lurk in either. The line has been crossed, and they both know it's too late to put the teacup back together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. "Before You and After You."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will could feel the chill on his legs, the dark waves crashing against the rocks below.</p><p>His hands weren't empty, but rather grasping onto damp fabric. He could feel a hand gripping his shirt, holding onto him. His eyes drifted upward to see Hannibal hanging onto a ledge with his free hand.</p><p>He didn't want to look down. If they fell, the rolling Atlantic would swallow them whole.</p><p>Hannibal's bloodied grip was weakening, the wound in his abdomen and the fight with Dolarhyde draining his strength.</p><p>In that moment, Will was reminded that even the Chesapeake Ripper, the Copycat Killer, the Monster of Florence, and God knows what else, was human.</p><p>He knew he had to take control, the exhaustion of his own wounds starting to catch up to him. So, he shifted and reached out with a shaky hand, gripping onto the same ledge and making sure he had a steady hold on the other. </p><p>Their eyes briefly met, and then they started their ascent.</p><p>___________________________________________</p><p>Will suddenly found himself in the backseat of a car, sight blurring for moments before starting to focus. His head pounded, and he sat up with a groan. He had sat up too fast, tasting bile in the back of his throat as a warning. He didn't know how much time had passed, feeling the throbbing of the deep gash on his cheek. Stitched. Not neat by any regards, but stitched. He realized that the car, Dolarhyde's, wasn't moving, secluded in the woods away from the cliff. The man squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the bile before opening them up, intent of shaking whatever it was off.</p><p>His attention looked over to Hannibal, who had drifted off in the front seat, and quite frankly, didn't look too good. His skin was paler than it should be, and his breathing was shallow. He didn't want to think about what the wound looked like right now. Will stood up without hitting the top of the car, rummaging through the drawers of junk in the vehicle before finding an opened first aid kit. This would do, for now.</p><p>He moved to the front with kit in hand, sliding into the passenger seat and laying a hand on Hannibal's forehead, a thin sheen of sweat on his face. <i>Hot.</i> Cheek. <i>Too hot. Shit.</i></p><p>Will had to hurry. Change clothes, get to a motel, patch him up... </p><p>At this point, neither would be able to survive separation.</p><p>He got out of the car, dragging Hannibal to the passenger side and securing the seatbelt for him before making his way to the trunk of the car. A couple bundles of clothes, how convenient. A quiet sigh of relief slipped from his lips. Will quickly shed his dried, blood-crusted clothes with a couple of winces and slipped a clean shirt and pants on. He rolled his old cloths into a tight ball after ripping some pieces off, tossing the remains into the thicket of green, overgrown shrubbery.</p><p>He took the pieces of fabric he tore and made his way back to Hannibal again, this time getting into the driver’s seat. Will checked Hannibal again, gulping silently when he felt him still breathing.</p><p>As he placed the sheds of cloth onto the wound to keep it from bleeding more and getting infected, if it hadn't already. He knew they had to leave, to drive, to get away. It would be a couple hours until they reached a safe enough shelter. Will didn't bother putting his seatbelt on before he started the car again and stepped down on the gas brake. 

</p><p>___________________________________________</p><p>Will didn't know how many hours had passed or where they were when he finally pulled into the unkempt lot of a small motel. He stopped the car and felt Hannibal's forehead again. Still hot. The convict had awoken a couple times during the ride, but he was pretty disoriented. Will almost felt bad.</p><p>Opening the car door, Will got out of the vehicle. He walked to check-in, a separate building from the rooms, still having his wallet on him. The place seemed run down, but there were a couple trucks in the lot. As he entered the office, the bright florescent lights flickered slightly, seemingly like it knew his sins. Still, he shrugged it off mentally and set his sights on the clerk, an older woman, at the desk, approaching.</p><p>"Can I help you?" She asked, not even looking up as she was typing something into that ancient computer of hers. Certainly dated.</p><p>Will pursed his lips as he thought for a moment, hearing the quiet muttering of the radio in the background. He hoped that wouldn't become a problem. "Uh, yeah actually. Room for two? Separate beds?"</p><p>The woman looked up, stress evident on her skin and in her hair. Her face was unreadable, but perhaps she was like this with everyone. She seemed like she didn't care, about this or her job. "Sure. Name?"</p><p>"Graham. Henry Graham." he told her, reaching into his pockets and fishing for his wallet. He had decided not to tell this stranger his real name, even if it was close. He didn't know if she suspected him, and he didn't like not knowing. It strangled him, cornered him like a rabid animal. He had to hold back temptation. What would Hannibal say? <i>Save yourself, kill them all?</i></p><p>She wrote his name down and looked at the rooms available. "That'll be $43."</p><p>Without a word, Will took out a couple of $10s and a $5, handing them over to the clerk. He let his eyes inspect the walls as she took the money and went through the register.</p><p>
  <i>Would anyone notice if she went missing? Would anyone miss her?</i>
</p><p>He didn't doubt that Molly didn't miss him. He didn't miss her.</p><p>"—re you go, sir." the woman spoke up, jarring Will out of his thoughts. She slid the remainder of his money over to him, parting from her computer to grab the room key on the cork board on the wall. Will took his leftover money, sliding it into his wallet as she returned, jangling the key between her fingers and handing it over to him.</p><p>Will mumbled a <i>"thanks"</i> as he accepted the key and made his way out of the building and back to the car, not wanting to stick around for too long. He glanced at the room number.</p><p>___________________________________________</p><p>This was the most vulnerable he had ever seen Hannibal, at least physically.</p><p>As Will cleaned up the wound and wrapped the gauze around the older man’s abdomen, he winced at the movement of his shoulder. He could wait. This was more pressing, too big to stitch. A quite noticeable scar, like the smile he himself had left Will with that night. </p><p>Hannibal had been in and out of sleep as the injury was sterilized and cleaned, the pillowcase between his teeth at some points to keep noise down. They had to be as quiet as possible, even if this place had seen much more obscene acts. The walls were paper thin and the room smelled of cigarette smoke from the previous guest, lingering in the quilts and the carpet. No care whatsoever, and Will silently suggested to himself that they should stay here, until Hannibal hopefully got a little better. He smoothed back the graying hair from that burning, damp forehead. A tender touch.</p><p>Pulling away after finishing, the fisherman headed into the cramped, dirty bathroom to wash his hands and take care of himself. He just wanted to be certain that they were going to be okay, but first of all, he needed sleep before driving another God-knows-how-many hours.</p><p>His hands underneath ice cold, running faucet water, Will's mind wandered to Molly and Walter. Should he call her? Let her know he was mostly fine, that he wasn't coming back home?</p><p>No, Jack would've told her by now. He was sure of it.</p><p>Drying off his hands, he stared at himself in the smudged mirror. Will almost didn't recognize himself. Almost. But as his blue eyes meandered over his refection, familiarity was flying back him like a moth to a flame. He had to pull away.</p><p>It was a strange sight to see Hannibal like this, feverish and curled underneath the covers. Usually nothing physical fazed him, until now, clearly. The ex-psychiatrist stirred slightly, curling his fingers around nothing as he slept, breathing heavy. He could leave him now, to fade away. He could say that he was forced to come along. But no, he couldn't. They had crossed the threshold.</p><p>Will was too afraid to go to sleep, so he sat across from him, watching. He was expecting <i>anyone</i> to burst in at any moment, and even if he did, what would he tell them? A part of him wished they fell, perished in the waters together. Maybe that would have been better. It certainly would've solved all their issues.</p><p>Leaning back, the professor figured he should rest. He reached out for the lamp on the dusty nightstand, shutting off the light and laying on his back, listening to nothing but Hannibal's breathing in the pitch black. As dark as the River Styx. </p><p>Will swore he could hear the waves.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. "Of Teacups and Time."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morning came with a sense of dread hidden behind calm faces.</p><p>The sun was rising as Will stirred, reminding him that they were, in fact, not dead. He sat up with a strained groan, looking over at Hannibal. The man was thankfully still alive, and still asleep. After getting out of bed, he made himself a cup of shitty motel coffee and took a quick shower, carefully cleaning his wounds and stitches. </p><p>Returning back to their shared bedroom, Will searched around for a water bottle and medical supplies, finally finding what he needed before heading to his partner's bedside. He looked a little better, some color had returned to his face, but it took the fisherman one press on the forehead with the back of his hand to figure that the fever hadn't broken. His touch elicited a slight twitch of eyelids.</p><p>"Hey," Will urged quietly, gently patting the side of Hannibal's face to wake him up a little. "You need to get some food and water down, and I have to change the gauze, okay?"</p><p>The convict stirred with a slight grumble, finally opening his eyes as he was roused from slumber. He shifted so it was easier for Will to access the bandages, wincing at the pain in his abdomen. He watched with a tired, ill gaze as Will's fingers deftly unbuttoned his clean shirt and started to unwrap the dressing.</p><p>There was an intimate spell of silence and warmth between them.</p><p>Until Will spoke up as he cleaned the injury once again. The swelling had gone down some amount, and fortunately the bullet didn't hit any major organs. "So," he started, glancing up at Hannibal with a look not unlike pure solicitude. </p><p>"I assume you want to talk about what happened, at the cliff." Hannibal interjected hoarsely, one of his hands drifting lazily through Will's curls. A distraction of sorts. </p><p>Will raised a brow before returning his eyes back to where his hands were. "Actually, no." He paused, his tongue peeking from between his lips as he thought. "Not right now, at least. Unless you want to. I was just going to ask you if you were up for another four or so hours of driving."</p><p>A grunt slipped from Hannibal as the professor disinfected, the sting painful on raw flesh. He cleared his throat. "And?"</p><p>"And I don't feel comfortable moving you until your fever breaks." He responded, picking up a new roll of gauze. "Drink some water."</p><p>___________________________________________</p><p>Hours passed by, the room's clock ticking faintly as Hannibal returned to slumber. Will sat in a chair nearby, eyes on a moving screen as he didn’t exactly pay attention, waiting for <i>something.</i></p><p>He didn't know what it was. News that they were still alive, he supposed. Suppressing a chuckle, he smiled at the thought of Freddie Lounds jumping at the chance to be the first to publish as he ignored the pain in his cheek. What would she call them? Murder husbands? </p><p>To be fair, they did have a daughter. Even if she had been adopted.</p><p>After the slaughter that left him with a scar across his stomach, he visited Abigail's grave often, until life caught up to him. He would never see that polished stone again, and in a strange way, Will was relieved. He no longer felt guilty about that. </p><p>His glance flickered over to the sleeping form across from him, his mind wandering to Bedelia. He never liked her, but he understood why she was the way she was. She thrived on surviving with the most grace as she could. He understood why her first instinct would be to crush a baby bird on the sidewalk, rather than helping it. Because that was exactly what he did to his, <i>their</i> surrogate daughter, unintentionally. Because that's what he could do to Hannibal now, while he still could.</p><p>It took Will a few moments to decide that Bedelia was right. They were more alike than he’d care to admit.</p><p>___________________________________________</p><p>The sun had long set when Will returned to the motel with dinner. A bag of pickup Chinese in one hand and keys in the other as he unlocked the door and rushed in.</p><p>Hannibal was awake, laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling. He struggled to sit up when he heard the door open, reaching for a knife on the nightstand. However, the man visibly relaxed when he realized it was Will, letting go of the knife and laying back down. </p><p>Placing the bag down on the small table and starting to take out the contents, Will looked over at Hannibal. He had stopped by a store to grab painkillers for the both of them. "How are you feeling?" </p><p>A pause, accompanied by a small cough. "Fine."</p><p>"You don't sound fine, Hannibal."</p><p>"Don't worry about me, Will. I'll survive." the Lithuanian rebutted. </p><p>Will had to hold back the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his skull. "Geez, I sure hope so." he replied, putting the now empty bag on the floor underneath the table. "I got you soup. Figured it would help."</p><p>Hannibal tried to sit up again, a slight grimace on his face before staring up at his partner-in-crime. "Thank you. Please, help me out of bed?" </p><p>Will blinked, expecting a sort of complaint about the food, but he figured the other had gotten used to lesser quality over the past three years. He nodded quickly, helping the criminal regain balance on his feet and leading him over to a chair by the table. </p><p>It was a quiet dinner by lamplight.</p><p>___________________________________________</p><p>Will was about to get into his bed when he noticed that Hannibal was still awake, his steely gaze almost boring through him. “What is it?”</p><p>Hannibal patted the spot beside him, a wordless invitation which Will accepted.</p><p>He felt arms wrap around him loosely, almost making sure he didn't pull away. As he was careful to not lay on Hannibal's wound, the fisherman muttered something softly before speaking up. "I'm guessing you still want to talk about the cliff."</p><p>"I do, but we don't have to." </p><p>Will didn't even know how to react to that. He didn't need to, and he was content for the first time in a while. He wasn’t aware that there was a hint of a smile on his lips.</p><p>Raising his hand, Will’s rough, calloused fingertips gingerly traced the small scars on Hannibal’s cheek as he rested his head on his shoulder, careful not to lay on his torso. It was a moment that felt like they were the only two people in the world, alone but together. A strange sort of love, and genuine affection. Hannibal let out a small hum of approval as he closed his eyes as well, his hand on the back of the other's neck lazily as they both succumbed to sleep.</p><p>The teacup would never come back together, and he was okay with that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. "Hide Us from the Wrath of the Lamb."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few days went by without consequence.</p><p>The two men lazed around the motel room as the clock ticked, still healing from their wounds.</p><p>Hannibal was improving, and his fever was clearing up, but had a long way to go. Will's wounds were more superficial, more skin-deep. It almost felt like Mason, long dead by now, had jabbed his father's shiny knife into the fat of his flesh. A test, just like The Fall that had got them into this condition.</p><p>Will wondered what Alana and Margot were doing now. He was sure the couple had fled from their massive mansion with their prized heir, estate empty and in anticipation of Hannibal's violent return. Were they lounging in bed together too, like he and the Devil were? </p><p>He and Alana weren't that different in some retrospects, after all. She had been a bridge that Hannibal crossed to get closer to Will, and he had done just that. He had pulled the wool over the poor, then-infatuated woman's eyes. Both of them did. Will guessed that if he was to blame Hannibal for Alana's standoffish manner, he had to blame himself as well. He practically manipulated the man, and it went to Hell at when realization dawned.</p><p>He traced the scar across his stomach, beneath his navel, with the tip of his thumb before sighing and glancing over at his roommate.</p><p>Hannibal was clearly restless already, but he was propped up on his bed with a book someone had left behind in the room on his lap. It was one of those cheap bestsellers that you'd find in the supermarket, by an author with a ridiculous amount of works. While he told Will it wasn’t his preferred choice, it was better than nothing. </p><p><i>Bullshit</i>, Will thought.</p><p>It was clear that he wasn't actually reading the book, but lost in thought. Perhaps to occupy the boredom that came with bedrest. Perhaps to stop himself from asking about the cliff. They would have to talk about that, sooner or later. Later, he had decided, along with everything else. </p><p>They didn't have the old, tube television by the coffee maker on most of the time. One, it rarely worked since it was just so outdated. And two, it was only on to check the news. They were on a watchlist, according to the information passed on by Jack Crawford. Who thought they either weren't far or on their way to Europe. But he knew they were still alive nonetheless.</p><p>An issue indeed.</p><p>After taking a shower and getting dressed, which was somewhat difficult due to his fucked up shoulder, Will emerged from the dinky bathroom. He glanced over at Hannibal's bed, drying off his wet hair. "Enjoying James Patterson?"</p><p>The man’s nose scrunched up slightly, and the ex-profiler had to hold back his snort. The dull thud of the hardcover being closed was heard. </p><p>“I’d much rather prefer Homer, Hrotsvitha, Donelaitis, or even Proust. But this will have to do for now.” The former psychiatrist rebutted. “Once we settle somewhere, we’ll have to build a small library in one of the rooms.”</p><p>Will would’ve said something straight away, if it weren’t for two words. </p><p>
  <i>We settle.</i>
</p><p>It sounded so... so... domestic. So casual. Like this had been something gradually building for a while now, like sap from a tree. No, not like that. He didn’t know, but it was something he never imagined. </p><p>If he could go back to their first meeting in Jack’s office, and he told his former self that: yes, he was running away with a cannibal; and yes, said cannibal was in love with him and the feeling was returned? Then-Will would’ve laughed loudly in his face right there and pushed past him. </p><p>It was a strange thought. He would need time to adjust. </p><p>Licking his chapped lips, his eyebrows perked up slightly at the list of authors. He’d have to keep those in mind, in case. “I recognize about two of those names. My neighbor when I was a child had Proust in her bookshelf.”</p><p>“She did?” </p><p>Will sat down in one of the chairs, now resting the towel on one of his legs. “She was older, about seventy. French-Canadian in Louisiana.” He paused. “I was the only one in the neighborhood who really talked to her.” </p><p>Hannibal seemed intrigued, watching him with interest. “There’s a reason you’re known for your empathy, Will.” </p><p>“Let me finish.” The fisherman replied, his partner letting him continue. “The outside of her home was not tended for. In all fairness, no one’s was, but hers was the worst. The neighborhood kids thought she was a witch, or thought the place was haunted.” </p><p>He could almost hear the calming chirping of cicadas from that warm year, the crunch of molts under his worn and muddy shoes. </p><p>“Anyway, I found out that she was really just a woman who had lost her husband and son ten years before to a boating accident, and had gotten severely injured in that same incident. We chatted a lot on her pastel green patio, and she read a lot of Proust out to me.” A beat passed. “She always made me fruit pies and tarts when I came by.” Will finished, leaning back in his seat, almost waiting for a reaction. </p><p>Hannibal’s lips curled into a small smile, clearly charmed. “Did you view her as a surrogate grandmother?”</p><p>“In a way, I think. But not quite. I think we both were just lonely, outcasts, and she viewed me more of a son.” He explained, letting a moment run by before getting back up to put the towel away and sort out the mess on the counter with a wince. Wrong move, shoulder hurt. He heard the book get placed on the nightstand.</p><p>“Where do you intend for us to go, Will?” The man, the monster, questioned. Changing the topic. Still confined to his bed.</p><p>The lights played tricks on his eyes. He thought he spotted antlers on the wall for a brief second.</p><p>Coming out of his little spook, Will sighed and turned to the criminal, stopping his ministrations on tidying up the space. “I was thinking up north in the states, far up north. Maine. It’s total wilderness up there, and it practically freezes in the winter. Plus, the FBI will probably think we’re going to Italy or France for their initial search.”</p><p>A hum of uncertainty flew out from Hannibal’s lips as he mulled the decision over. “Alright. Maine it is.”</p><p>“We should probably get moving soon. Do you think you’re up for another car ride?”</p><p>“I think I am. And a better hotel.” </p><p>Will’s gaze connected with Hannibal’s, and the Ripper looked like he was just about ready to claw his own chest open with bare fingers and tear out his heart, all for him. </p><p>It felt intense and dizzying, in the mere moments they stared silently at each other before either spoke. A sense of understanding. He could faintly taste the echos of long-washed-off metallic blood on his tongue, dark and sticky. It reminded him of Francis Dolarhyde’s demise. At their hands. Together.</p><p>He could never go back to life before. He would never want to.</p><p>“We’ll leave tomorrow morning.” Will finally stated, shifting his attention away from prying, maroon eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Finally! I was so stuck with this for a while, but I was able to get out of that rut. I’ll try to get the next chapter done soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>